


Cold Feet

by invisiblehabits



Category: BVCCI HAYNES, Jrock, SID (band)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-10
Updated: 2011-05-10
Packaged: 2018-02-21 04:51:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2455394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/invisiblehabits/pseuds/invisiblehabits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He walked out the door, onto the sidewalk, head bent over his phone, iPod plugged in. Had it not been for the American rock blasting through his head he would’ve heard the tires screeching.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold Feet

He stared out the window silently, at the cars rushing by, the people walking down the street. Walking... Should it hurt to watch them? Perhaps. Probably. He wanted it to, it was why he sat there, staring. If it hurt it meant he wasn’t entirely numb, that he could still feel, at least on the inside.

\- - -

_He walked out the door, onto the sidewalk, head bent over his phone, iPod plugged in. Had it not been for the American rock blasting through his head he would’ve heard the tires screeching._

\- - -

Aki unlocked the door and stepped inside the quiet apartment, not a sound, not a tune, nothing. There used to be constant music, blaring mixtures of CDs and video-games and web radio, songs being composed or just played for fun. Not anymore. Toeing off his shoes he entered the living room, swallowed back the lump in his throat at seeing Kenzo by the window right where he knew he would be. Always by the window, elbow tucked on the windowsill, chewing mindlessly on a thumbnail that was barely existing anymore. Staring, out, away, at people, into the past.

“Baby...” He put the groceries he’d picked up on the way home on the coffee table, placed two packs of Lucky Strike before the younger man. “You shouldn’t sit here all day.”

“What’d you have me do instead?” The complete lack of emotion in his voice was creepy, as if his voice had died along with his nerve paths.

\- - -

_The first thing he noticed waking up was the rhythmical buzzing of the ceiling fan. Then Aki sleeping, head tucked on his thigh. Thirdly he realised he couldn’t feel Aki touching him..._

\- - -

“I lived for three things Aki,” he mumbled and almost automatically tore plastic and foil from carton, lit up, inhaled. “Drumming, sex, and you. When you’re gone there’s not a whole lot I can do.”

Aki sighed, tried to keep it in but managed only somewhat. He wished there was something he could do to change things, something he could say to make Kenzo feel better. But he couldn’t bring himself to lie to the drummer anymore, he’d tried at first, right after the accident when they still didn’t know, later just to make the ugly truth go away. He’d stopped the day Kenzo threw a raging fit so bad he fell out of his seat and sprained his wrist.

“Have no pretty lies for me today, baby?” Words spilled along with smoke, ash flicked to the floor mindlessly, eyes still staring out at nothing. Aki tried to swallow the lump in his throat again and, at a loss of what to say, turned to go and put the groceries away. He heard the sizzle of a cigarette butt dropped in water, the squeak of metallic wheels turning. “Look at me.”

\- - -

 _The mind numbing shock didn’t pass till late in the night, once Aki and everyone else had gone home to sleep for a few hours, left him to do the same. With nothing and no one to occupy his mind the full knowledge of his situation finally sunk in. He tried to kick his legs, wiggle his toes, do_ something _. Four hours of futile attempts later he threw up over over the side of the bed and didn’t tell anyone._

\- - -

Slowly Aki turned around, towards his lover, looked down at him. Aside from brownish tips Kenzo’s hair was as black as his eyes, skin milky pale from months without the slightest hint of sunlight. Even with deep purplish circles below black eyes he looked beautiful, perfect as he always had. Looking at him Aki didn’t see the wheelchair and the imperfection it supposedly symbolised, he just saw Kenzo, damaged but alive.

“Why do you stay?” Kenzo whispered, almost a hiss but too broken to be fully so. “Why don’t you just leave already?”

It would’ve been so easy to cry, faced with the near accusation Aki wanted to cry. But he bit it back, stayed strong till he could have a moment to break down with Yuuya or Mao to hold him up, be strong for him the way he needed to be strong for Kenzo. Taking the few steps back to his lover he knelt down before the wheelchair, careful not to touch the paralysed lower body, knowing just how bad it hurt Kenzo to be reminded of the fact his legs were as good as dead.

“I love you.” He’d lost track of the amount of times he’d said it in the months since the accident. “I stay because I love you. You’re still perfect to me and I want you near me. I wish you’d believe that...”

Someone, Aki had forgotten who, once told him ‘You cannot love another until you learn to love yourself’. He’d never understood the meaning of the saying before, but looking into Kenzo’s black eyes and seeing the doubt in them, he thought he did. It didn’t matter how many times he promised not to leave, that he accepted and loved still, Kenzo would not believe it until he learnt to accept his own disability. Steeling the emotions threatening to well up the bassist carefully touched his lover’s cheek, swallowed back the hurt when Kenzo broke eye contact. Standing up he placed a quick chaste kiss to a cheek.

“I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me, baby,” he said.

If, never when, even though both of them knew Kenzo would need him sooner rather than later. The personal assistant hired to attend to the drummer’s needs during the day had left only half an hour or so before Aki got home. It was a system they’d set up only a couple weeks earlier, Kenzo claiming he needed just that small bit of time on his own to not feel like a complete cripple. No one had pointed out he was one, they all knew all too well, and no one better than Kenzo himself.

\- - -

_”The accident caused damage to your spine. We’ve done everything we can, I’m sorry, the paralysis is permanent.”_

\- - -

He could’ve dealt with not being able to walk, honestly, half the time he was too lazy to move around anyway. When the doctors first told him there was nothing more to be done, all hope of regaining feeling and movement in his legs lost, he didn’t even think of the fact he’d never walk again. The very first thing he thought of was his drum kit, that his feet would never work the peddles of it again. A drummer was useless without his feet, meaning Kenzo was as good as useless from that day on.

“I spoke to Yume today,” he confessed, tucked into bed like a child, on his stomach because he could never sleep on his back, unable to shift position without a lot of work and strain. “They are thinking of starting a new band.”

Somehow Aki would’ve thought he’d sound more hurt saying it. He’d heard rumours about it from friends, and he couldn’t blame Intetsu, Yume and Takehito for wanting to be on stage again. Had he not gone back to SID himself? They’d taken a short break following the accident, just enough to give Aki time to set up the beginning of a new life with his lover, but they were back in the studio, working on new songs to create a new album. His career went on, even if he did dread the idea of a tour at least as much as he looked forward to it. Why should the members of AYABIE be any different?

“A new one?” he asked, not quite daring to voice the actual question in his mind.

A soft a rustle indicated Kenzo nodded his head, a trait that hadn’t changed, that of answering without words. “Not AYABIE, something new, but...”

Two times restarted, three members intact from the last formation, even with a new name it would be like a fourth version of the same band. AYABIE had begun without Kenzo, it was not unthinkable it could go on without him. Only it was, to Aki and Kenzo both it was. He was the first permanent drummer the band had had, and AYABIE was the first band to actual work out for Kenzo, the one he’d put his heart and soul into. The band he’d loved, for their music and their members.

“I’m sorry baby,” Aki said softly, reached a hand out and felt fingers grip his own, the first time in months Kenzo hadn’t blatantly avoided his touch or presence in bed.

“Why? They’re musicians.” The deadish tone was back to his voice again. “Can you get me a cigarette?”

The words ‘so are you’ just so nearly tumbled over Aki’s pierced lips, but he bit them back last moment possible. He meant them, Kenzo was and would always be a musician, a composer if not a drummer, but he knew the younger man didn’t see it like that. Without his drum kit Kenzo had lost a great part of his identity, perhaps the most important part of all.

“You shouldn’t smoke in bed,” he said instead, even while reaching for the pack on the nightstand. “Turn over, sit up against the headboard.”

“Aki-”

“Shut up, you can do it and you know it.” Perhaps it was harsh, but Kenzo could do it and watching him move, in any way, control the parts of his body he still could and manipulate the rest, gave Aki hope at least. “Here.”

Angry fingers snatched the stick and Kenzo glared through the darkness. But he was sitting up, having twisted around and pushed up. It wasn’t a perfect position, he hadn’t lifted his legs into place using his hands because he hated feeling them in his hands when he couldn’t feel his hands on them. He hated _them_ for what they were and what they meant. A year later he still hated them. Hated the situation. Hated himself.

\- - -

 _It wasn’t Hitsugi who opened the door and Kenzo had to check the address again. It was correct, but though the amount of piercings was about correct the face was not. Hitsugi had never been_ that _gorgeous._

_“Hey, you must be Kenzo. I’m Aki, Hitsu’s new room mate, come on in.”_

\- - -

The metal was cold in his hands but not against his thigh, of course not against his thigh. He’d tried everything; physical therapy, working harder than he ever had in his life, massage, pinching, hitting, cutting. Aki had freaked when he saw that, yelled at him, cried even. He’d actually felt bad then, he hadn’t seen Aki cry since he got out of the hospital. But he wanted to feel somehow, something, anything. Even pain, inside or outside, as long as it was an actual thing he could feel.

Turning the gun over in his hands he looked out the window again, the same window he’d been seated at every day for the past thirteen months. Life went on around him, Aki would be going on tour with SID soon, play his bass on stage in front of thousands of people. Yume, Intetsu and Takehito were officially looking for band members, a second guitarist and a drummer, to create something new, the next step in their own musical evolution. He felt left behind, locked away, forgotten. Numb. Dead.

“Is there anything else you need Kenzo?” his assistant, Maiko, asked. “Another blanket perhaps? It’s getting cold outside, you shouldn’t stay so close to the window.”

“I’m fine,” he clutched the gun beneath the blanket wrapped around his legs, it was dangerous to bring it out while she was still there but he just wanted to feel it. “The radiator’s on.”

“Okay then,” she slipped on her shoes and jacket, wrapped a scarf around her head, “Aki will be home shortly, it was him who called a few minutes ago.”

“Yeah, sure, you can go.” _I want you to go, I don’t want you here, I want to be alone._

With a few polite goodbyes the door clicked shut behind her and Kenzo breathed a sigh of relief. Somewhere deep down at the back of his mind he knew she meant well, perhaps even that he needed her to simply....get through the days, but it was hidden beneath and behind so much nothingness filling up his insides he couldn’t even bring himself to thank her properly. Bringing the gun out he looked at it, turned it over in his hands, watched the sun catch and reflect in the surface. It was loaded.

Tearing black eyes from the metallic surface he looked out across the room. It wasn’t his and Aki’s apartment, the furniture were mostly the same but they’d moved to one where he could move the wheelchair around. They hadn’t even lived together for real before, but he’d spent so much time at Aki’s old apartment Kenzo had practically considered it his own home. This wasn’t home, it never had been and it never would be. The spacious two roomer with its open plan arrangement, ‘ideal for a disabled man such as himself’, was merely another symbol of who he was now.

Aki had put pictures of the two of them in the bookshelf, too high up for him to reach and Kenzo knew it was a deliberate move. Not because Aki wanted to taunt him, not really, but because he wanted to smash them to bits. He was smiling in the private pictures, ones media and fans would never see, curled up around Aki, standing on the edge of a roof top with the bassist’s arms around his waist, seated behind the drum kit he’d kept in his own apartment. All taken long ago, in a different life, showing a different person.

Turning his eyes back out the window he watched the people down there. Walking, going somewhere, moving on. He was tired of sitting still, being stuck in the same chair in the same apartment, the same moment. Lifting the gun he put it in his mouth, squeezed the trigger.

He’d never believed in the whole ‘life flashes before your eyes’ thing, but it did. A million pictures, all at ones and yet each one individual, distinct, clear as day. Family and friends, fans and life events, recording in the studio with AYABIE, jamming for fun at home alone and with friends, playing with his sister, tumbling in bed with Aki. Aki. Somehow he’d expected the last thing he’d see to be his drum kit, the monstrous dream of Tama sponsored equipment he’d loved and lived through. Instead it was Aki, casually dressed without makeup, smiling open and lovingly the way he only ever did when looking at him and the last thing Kenzo knew before the bullet tore through his brain and everything went numb for real, was that he’d made a huge mistake.

\- - -

_”I should’ve known better than to introduce the two of you,” Hitsugi grinned and threw a pillow at them. “We’re supposed to be playing here.”_

_“We are playing,” Aki ensured and tried to focus on the game rather than the lips nibbling his neck._

_“No, but we could be,” Kenzo whispered against the shell of his ear, the deep voice sending trembles throughout Aki’s entire body._

_“How long did it actually take before you were screwing?” the redhead asked, slightly apprehensive of the answer._

_“What?” The grin on Kenzo’s lips was absolutely devious. “Jealous?”_

\- - -

At first he didn’t realise it was Maiko calling, she was stuttering so bad, something about police and ambulances and gunfire. Aki dropped the phone and bolted from the studio, door banging against the wall as his bass crashed to the floor. He never remembered how he got home, only that he was greeted by offensive blue lights, rude photographers and crime scene tape. Someone stopped him as he dove beneath it and tried to get inside the building, into his apartment, arms holding him back and preventing him from seeing. Mao was there, though he didn’t know how or why. And Maiko, face pale and breath smelling of vomit.

Perhaps it was she who told him, more likely one of the officers or paramedics. Told him Kenzo was gone, dead, all of him and not just parts. Later Aki was told he screamed, panicked and heartbroken, headless of the fact people could see and hear. Mao said later that he cried more watching Aki’s pain than over the fact Kenzo had killed himself.

\- - -

_“I lived for three things Aki. Drumming, sex, and you.”_

\- - -

There was rain looming in the distance, as fitting as ironic considering Kenzo’s distaste of the weather. Aki walked across the cemetery, towards the grave created almost two years ago. He never visited on the anniversary of Kenzo’s death though, on that day he locked himself inside his apartment and drank himself stupid before crying himself to sleep. Well the first time around he did anyhow, hopefully this year would be better. But like the year before Aki approached the grave on the day that marked Kenzo’s accident, the day when everything had begun to change for both of them.

Stepping up to the grave he saw lit candles, flowers, apparently someone else had the same idea as him. It made him smile, even in death Kenzo attracted attention. His old band mates released a new AYABIE album with only songs composed by him a year after he died, each track with a different drummer to mark the fact no one could take his place in AYABIE. They had indeed formed a new band, Yume, Intetsu and Takehito along with two others, they were doing well. SID were too, despite the eight month break they’d been forced to take for Aki’s sake.

“You really made a mess you know,” he said lowly, feeling a bit stupid for talking to a piece of stone with kanji scribbled on it. “Not just of the apartment, but of me too.”

He _had_ been a mess after Kenzo’s death, thrown back to the despair he’d felt at the hospital right after the accident, but without the hope of his lover ever waking up again. But where Kenzo gave up, where he didn’t have the energy to go on anymore, Aki had picked himself up again. Crouching down in front of the stone he placed his own offering amongst the ones already there. A set of drumsticks tied together with a red ribbon. It seemed more fitting than flowers.

“I wish our priorities had been more alike,” he mumbled. “I would’ve given up both music and sex if I could’ve kept you.”

Truth was he’d been thinking about doing it, talking to Mao and making the approaching tour his last goodbye. He never got the chance to though, and now it wasn’t needed. A lone tear trickled slowly down his cheek and he wiped it away, refused to cry anymore.

“I hope you found peace, Kenzo.”

Aki turned around and walked back towards his life, filled with music and lives and regular fucks with strangers whose eyes were never quite black enough.


End file.
